


Exercises In Mutual Pleasure

by rsadelle



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Dating, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 13:51:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6706819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsadelle/pseuds/rsadelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q leans forward, hands folded on the table in front of him, which appears to be a tell that he's about to be serious. "I think if you only live in the field, you're less likely to remember there's a reason to live when you're out of it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exercises In Mutual Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

> Story origin: Lake suggested Q being the one to get a post-mission Bond to eat.

A small fraction of James's attention diverts to the training room door as it opens. It won't hurt him; he's sure every other agent in the room is doing the same.

"007."

James and his sparring partner each take a step back, a pause in their practice of attack and counterattack.

"You're to report to Q's office in one hour," the errand boy - James knows his name, his age, his favorite brand of tea; he is a spy and this is his job, no matter how insignificant a member of Q Branch this messenger might be - informs him.

James gives him a curt nod, and steps forward to close with his partner.

He showers and dresses in his suit before he reports to Q's office. "Q."

"Ah, 007, right on time." Q scoops up a coat - a proper coat, not the affront to style he wore the first time they met - and turns off the lights in his office as he ushers James out of it. "R, you are in charge for the time being. Please do avoid the necessity of contacting me."

"Yes, Quartermaster."

"Well," James says as they enter the elevator, "you do have all of us doing your bidding."

"Yes," Q says. He punches the button for one of the parking levels. "Of course, some are more biddable than others." He draws something out of a pocket and tosses it at James.

James catches it, and categorizes it as not a danger to him - although with Q's devices, one never knows - before he recognizes the feel of car keys in his hand.

"You'll drive," Q says.

James raises his eyebrows. "And where will I be driving?"

"I'll give you directions on the way."

The keys are to a black Lexus sedan, perfectly ordinary from the outside if not, James would guess, on the inside.

Q's directions are, as they are on his comms, given in a voice of calm certainty that James obeys without reason not to and lead them to a restaurant. Q directs James to give the keys to the valet and tells the maitre d' they have reservations under James's name.

They're shown to a table and given menus, and once they are as alone as the restaurant can leave them, James asks, "What are we doing here, Q?"

"Having dinner." Q looks at him over the top of the menu. "The chef is supposed to be an artist with food. I do have to admit I'm a bit skeptical of the molecular gastronomy movement, but I'm willing to be convinced."

Molecular gastronomy is not a cuisine James is particularly knowledgeable about, and he lets Q order them a variety of dishes.

"Why," James asks when their order has been placed, "are we having dinner at a restaurant you're skeptical of?" He's already classified most of the other diners in the place as not a threat.

Q folds his hands on the table in front of him. "Because you haven't been eating since you returned."

It's not true in the slightest; James's body is his most important weapon, and while he does take damage to it, he also does his best when possible to ensure that it will do what he needs it to. Giving it proper fuel is one of the ways he does that.

James raises his eyebrows. "I dare say the canteen would disagree with you."

Q raises a hand. "Let me rephrase. Because you haven't been eating for pleasure since you returned."

"And does the agency concern itself with my pleasure?"

Q doesn't respond to the suggestion in James's tone. "I concern myself with the well-being of the agency's assets."

James narrows his eyes. "And are you concerned with my well-being?"

"Yes," Q says. Then he sighs and says, "Bond, this needn't be difficult. We can have an enjoyable meal together the memory of which might carry you through your mandatory psych session tomorrow, or you can sulk and still have to attend the session."

James can feel his entire face close off. "Is this supposed to give me something to talk about in that session, then?"

Q shakes his head. "No. You're only going to lie and tell them whatever you think will make them sign off on your continued field work anyway. That's what everyone does."

"Including you?"

"Oh, of course," Q says breezily. "I do recommend Dr. Singer, if you'd like to make a choice."

It's not one of the psychs James is familiar with. "Easiest to fool?"

"Makes the best tea."

It's such an unexpected response that James doesn't quite know what to make of it, and he lets the silence carry them through to the arrival of their appetizers.

The food is bizarre. It's all made into unexpected shapes and textures that force James to pay attention to them.

They discuss the food as each course arrives, and other topics between: James's love of cars, Q's surprising affection for nineteenth-century literature, Q Branch's experiments on the effects various catnip blends have on the domesticated house cat.

Q pays the bill, when it arrives, with a credit card under the name of Quentin Thomas, which is surely not his real name given that he's not hiding it from James.

"If I allow you to drive me home," Q asks as they wait for the valet to bring the car around, "can I trust you to return the car in the same state as when we left?"

"Of course," James says.

"You'll forgive me," Q says, with the twitch of a smile on his lips, "if I don't find that particularly reassuring."

"Do have a little faith, Q." James holds Q's door open for him. "I wouldn't want to disappoint you."

Q gives him directions to a freestanding house on a quiet street. James recognizes the street and the house.

"Major Boothroyd's house."

"Owned by MI6 now," Q says, "and officially the Quartermaster's residence. It's quite well protected, and had the necessary lab space. I've modernized it a bit, of course."

"Of course," James says.

Q smiles at him, a real smile full of real humor. "Good night, Bond. Don't damage the car."

James manages to say, "Good night, Q," before Q can close the door on his response.

He waits for Q to enter the house - no sense in leaving his Quartermaster undefended - before he drives away.

*

James approaches Q Branch warily the next time he's summoned to it, but Q only has equipment for him and instructions to report to Eve for a mission briefing. The next summons is also for a mission. James has all but decided that Q taking him to dinner was a one-time thing when he responds to a summons to find Q waiting for him outside the Q Branch doors.

"Oh, good," Q says. "I'm famished." He tosses a set of car keys at James.

They're different keys on a different key chain, so not the Lexus this time.

James clicks the fob to unlock the silver BMW Q leads him to and slips past Q to open the door for him.

Q gets into the car and lets James close the door for him without comment. He continues to refrain from comment, aside from providing driving directions, as James turns on the heated seats, adjusts the radio, and splits his attention between the road and his attempts to figure out what Q Branch has done to the car.

James is expecting another unexpected, possibly experimental dining experience, but Q directs him to a relatively quiet neighborhood and, once James parks the car, leads him into a wholly ordinary pub. It could be any pub in the country, or the City at least, given the high proportion of patrons still wearing some portion of a suit.

They place an order at the bar - scotch and steak and kidney pie for James; lager and cottage pie for Q - and Q leads James unerringly through the light crowd to a corner table where James can have his back to the wall and a good view of the room.

"Not molecular gastronomy again?" James asks.

Q's mouth ticks up in the slight smile he gets when James amuses him. "No. Repeating myself would rather miss the point."

James raises his eyebrows. "Would it? And here I thought the point was my pleasure."

"The point is your well-being."

Q can be frustratingly difficult to talk to. "And you think variety of food will increase my well-being."

"I think enjoying it will. You do, as you said, eat." Q leans forward, hands folded on the table in front of him, which appears to be a tell that he's about to be serious. "I think if you only live in the field, you're less likely to remember there's a reason to live when you're out of it."

James narrows his eyes at Q and drops every bit of friendliness from his tone in favor of icy warning. "Is this a bid for my retirement?"

"Quite the contrary," Q says. "I think you'll be useful in the field for any number of years. But only if you're still alive to be so." Despite not being a trained field operative and having his back to the room, Q manages to time it so he says this just as their food is ready, providing a natural break in the conversation.

They busy themselves with the food, which is, James has to admit, very good. Q, with his slightly rumpled suit, looks more in keeping with the rest of the pub's clientele, but James fits in enough that no one pays them any attention.

"Do you take all your agents to dinner?" James asks.

Q gives him that amused smile. "Trying to find out if you're special?"

That puts James on more familiar footing. "Only trying to determine the extent of your particular interest in me."

Q goes on looking amused, but doesn't protest James's flirting then or for the rest of the meal. Neither does he particularly participate, but for the end of their meal when he says, "All right, Bond, take me home."

Unfortunately, it's said with the sort of sly smile that means it's less a response to James's flirting and more a barely disguised order.

"Not going to invite me up?" James asks when Q gets out of the car.

"No," Q says, clearly more amused than bothered by the continuous innuendo. "I hope you enjoyed yourself all the same."

James doesn't get a chance to respond before Q closes the door. He waits until Q gets into the house to drive away, and finds that not only did he enjoy himself, but he's rather looking forward to Q's next effort to make him do so.

*

It becomes a game of sorts for James to guess whether a summons to Q Branch means a mission or a meal. Q takes him down the block to a cafe for lunch once, which means he can't use time of day as a reliable indicator.

They have curry in a small restaurant where the staff greets them warmly, tapas at an unbearably trendy spot patronized solely by an unbearably trendy clientele, pasta at a small Italian place that has the best spaghetti carbonara James has ever tasted. Q switches up the cars, sometimes giving James something new to drive and sometimes repeating himself.

James raises his eyebrows the evening he answers a summons to Q Branch and finds Q in a suit that hasn't been wrinkled beyond belief.

"Executive meetings," Q says with a wrinkled nose. "It will serve us well this evening anyway." He tosses James an unfamiliar set of keys that turn out to belong to a sleek Jag.

"Are we impressing someone this evening?"

"If the evening turns out to be stultifyingly dull," Q says, "I wanted you to at least have fun with the driving."

"How could it be stultifyingly dull with such delightful company?"

The car starts with a low purr, and James gives it an appreciative look before he reverses out of the space. The car is a joy to drive, although James would prefer to be able to take it out on an open road. "I do miss the Aston Martin," he says to Q.

"I may be concerned about your well-being," Q says, "but I can't make all of our inventory decisions based on what you want."

James looks over at him. "That implies that you can make some of them based on what I want."

"Perhaps," Q says. "No exploding pens. Turn left at the light."

"I don't know why you've fixated on that," James says, taking a neat left just before the light turns red. "I've never asked for one."

"Perhaps you seem like the type. Take a right here."

James figures out why Q made contingency plans when he leads James not into a restaurant but an art gallery. James snags a pair of champagne glasses from a passing waiter with a tray and gives one to Q.

"Is this supposed to remind me of how we met?"

"Rather a different sort of art, I think," Q says.

James walks with Q around the gallery, pausing when Q does. Q seems to be taking in the art; James takes each piece in with a glance, and otherwise stays aware of their surroundings.

"Not enjoying it?" Q asks.

James spares a glance for the splatter of paint on the canvas in front of them. "Not my sort of art, I don't think."

Q chuckles. "Maybe one of the other artists will be more to your tastes."

Downing a few more glasses of champagne would be more to James's taste, but he deems it more prudent to stay alert. They seem to be perfectly safe, but Q is an MI6 executive, and James's custody of the car keys implies he's to keep it that way.

They turn a corner into another room of the gallery and the seemingly unplanned messes of the room before give way to geometrically precise blocks of color. They're more to James's taste than the others, if not what he would choose as art pieces. They're much more to Q's taste; his expression lightens as he takes them in.

James follows him around this part of the gallery, pointing out the unexpected slivers of color in one painting, the sharp angle in a sea of curves in another.

Q lingers longest before a large piece consisting of blocks and curves of different shades of red and a golden yellow.

"Picturing it in your office?" James asks.

"No," Q says. He gives it a backwards look as they move on.

They wander through another room of what the description on the wall describes as "fine examples of experimental contemporary art," and into a last room that contains more paintings in a similar paint thrown on canvas style as the first room.

Q glances around the room. "I won't make you suffer through this."

It would hardly be the worst torture James has faced. "If you want to-"

"No," Q interrupts with a chuckle. "I've had my fill of art for the evening. Let's have dinner."

James doesn't protest again, and they walk several blocks to a very nice restaurant that serves James a perfect rare steak.

"Next time," Q promises in the car ride home, "we'll do something more suited to your tastes."

James is no longer surprised by how much he's looking forward to that promised next time.

Before returning the car in the morning, James stops at the gallery, buys the painting Q lingered over, and arranges to have it delivered to Q at MI6.

*

James spends three weeks crisscrossing the globe on a mission and is home for a week before he gets a Tuesday morning summons to Q Branch.

He guesses it's a mission, but as soon as he walks in, Q tosses him car keys.

"I'll be out for the day," Q says to the room at large. "I'll be available by mobile, but do try to avoid the necessity." He gets a chorus of acknowledgment and leads James to the car.

It's the Jag again, and Q's directions take them out of London. Q spends most of the time doing something on his mobile.

Once they're beyond the worst of London traffic and on their way into the country, Q says, "You needn't obey the speed limit."

James accelerates and makes a pair of lane changes to get through the cars near them on his way to finding out what the Jag's top speed is. "You've done something?"

"I have." Q puts his mobile away.

"Directions?" James asks.

Q waves a hand. "Unnecessary. Don't crash, and I'd appreciate some notes on the car's handling if you have any."

The car is a joy to drive without the restrictions of going without notice on city streets.

James looks at Q. "We're just out for a drive then?"

"Well, you did buy me a painting."

James laughs and changes lanes to pass a Fiesta, and then a Corsa in the other lane.

They stop after a few hours, for petrol and lunch in a small village pub. Q orders them both pints and bangers and mash.

"Do you drive?" James asks over lunch.

"I can," Q says. "I don't particularly enjoy it. I haven't been letting you drive solely for your pleasure."

"And here I thought all of this was for my benefit."

"There's no reason we can't both benefit from it."

James lets his eyes linger on Q's lips for a moment. "Mutual pleasure, as it were?"

Q's smile at that is warmer than his usual amused quirk of lips. "Indeed."

James is too surprised by Q actually responding to his flirting to press the advantage, and the moment gets lost.

They take a stroll around the village before they get in the car and James takes them on a slightly more circuitous route back to London.

"I'm afraid you'll have to obey the traffic laws now," Q says when they approach the outskirts of the city.

James slows the car. "Can't do anything about it?"

"I could," Q says, "but I think it's best to avoid too much notice."

"Back to MI6?" James asks once they've reached the city.

"Home will do," Q says.

"Not worried the place will fall apart without you?"

"Q Branch is perfectly capable of functioning on its own for a day." Q flashes a quick grin that James catches out of the corner of his eye. "And I can check in from home if need be."

James laughs, as he's probably meant to, and navigates them through some truly dreadful traffic to Q's house.

Q pauses before he gets out of the car. "Any notes on the car?"

"It handles beautifully." James can't resist adding, "Although it's still no substitute for the Aston Martin."

Q chuckles, then grows serious. "Did you enjoy yourself today?"

"Immensely," James says. It's an automatic response, but he also means it. "I look forward to finding out what you have planned for us next time."

That makes Q smile at him. "Good night, 007."

James says, "Good night, Q," and waits until Q is safely in the house before he goes home.

*

The errand runner who delivers instructions for James to report to Q Branch is perfectly chipper at the time, but James walks into a dour and subdued Q Branch nine hours later.

Q looks up, almost seeming to look through James for a moment before he blinks and focuses. "Oh, 007."

James takes in the project Q appears to be in the middle of and the high number of Q Branch employees still at their desks, many looking grim. "Do we need to reschedule?"

"We can manage," R says. "It's all cleanup from here."

Q looks around the room. "Very well. 007, if you'll give me a few minutes."

"Of course." James lounges against the wall near the door and watches Q finish up whatever he's been doing, exchange a few words with R, and then disappear into his office and return with his coat.

"My mobile is on," he announces to the room at large. "Phone or text if you need me before tomorrow."

He looks so beleaguered that James has to resist the urge to use his most threatening tone to suggest that they not need Q.

"Right, 007, shall we?"

James holds the door for Q and accepts the car keys Q hands over.

"We needn't do this," James says. "I can take you home."

"I had a plan," Q says. It's not a particularly strong protest.

"To hell with the plan," James says. "What would you like to do?"

Q's mouth turns down. "There was a plan."

"This is meant to be for my pleasure," James says. "Allow me the pleasure of taking you where you would like to go."

Q makes a sound that would most likely be a chuckle with more energy behind it. "Well played, 007. Curry, then. You remember how to get there?"

"Of course." James finds something quiet on the radio, and doesn't press Q to talk.

Q closes his eyes, which is a show of trust that James takes as seriously as his custody of the car keys.

"Would you rather get takeaway?" he asks when they reach the restaurant.

"No." Q unbuckles his seat belt. "If you send me home with takeaway, I'll fall asleep without eating it."

"Bad day?" James asks when they're seated at a small table in a corner.

"Not one of the best," Q says. "I'd really rather not think about it anymore."

James spends the rest of dinner telling Q easy, unclassified stories from his time in the Navy that don't require a response and even manage to make Q laugh once or twice. At the end of their meal, he deftly outmaneuvers Q and pays the bill.

They're quiet on the drive to Q's house.

"Can you make it to bed?" James asks, half serious question, half reflexive flirting.

"If I can't, the sofa is quite comfortable." Q pauses and regards James seriously for a moment. "Thank you, James."

James means it entirely when he says, "It was my pleasure."

Q smiles softly at him. "Then we both benefited from this evening. Good night."

James is so pleased to have gotten that smile out of Q that he's nearly home before he realizes Q called him James.

*

The next time Q takes James to dinner, he's back to his usual clever, even-tempered self, and James enjoys the excursions Q takes him on. In short order they have dinner at a Thai restaurant, go to lunch at a deli half a mile from MI6, and even take a morning break to get takeaway coffee from a hipster-filled cafe two blocks away.

Then James goes on a mission that turns into a disaster. He ends up with a nasty slice down his thigh that requires stitches but miraculously misses doing any real damage to tendons or arteries. The target escapes. The woman James promised to protect and her two children are killed in the resulting explosion. James is utterly loyal to Queen and Country, but sometimes he wonders if he's doing any good at all.

James doesn't report to MI6 when he returns. He sits on the couch in his sparsely decorated apartment with a bottle of scotch and drinks.

He gets drunk on significantly less of it than he should. He blearily eyes the bottle, but no, he started with a full bottle and he shouldn't still have that much left for how drunk he is. He hasn't even taken the medication he was given for his leg.

It doesn't make sense in the morning, or the next two nights when he is again drunk before he expected to be. It's only when he turns on his mobile in preparation to report in and finds a summons to Q Branch dated the day of his return to London that it begins to make sense. Months of Q handing James car keys and the associated responsibility for his quartermaster's safety means months of single drinks at dinner and avoiding drinks during the day.

James puts on sunglasses and reports to MI6. Eve gives him an unimpressed look. "He's expecting you."

James nods at her before he goes in to give his report to M and get reprimanded for not reporting in earlier. This M may be new, but he has to know as well as James does that MI6 needs him too much to impose any real consequences for his not checking in.

James replaces his sunglasses when he's dismissed, and gets a second unimpressed look from Eve on his way out.

A momentary hush falls on the room when he enters Q Branch. Conversation picks up again quickly, and James goes to where Q stands at one of the tables in the middle of the room.

"007," Q says sharply. "You're three days late."

"Were you worried?"

"I was monitoring the electricity usage in your flat. I knew you were still alive."

"You have access to the electricity usage in my flat?"

"I'm the quartermaster of MI6," Q says, still sharp. "I have access to whatever I wish to have access to."

"We all have our ways of recuperating from missions," James says. Things have been different in the months that Q's been taking him all over the city, but surely he can't be too surprised by James's behavior.

"I suppose we do." Q's reply is crisp, but there's something in there that makes James take his sunglasses off.

"And what is yours?"

Q presses his lips together for a moment. "I tend to rebuild household appliances for greater efficiency and durability while I wait for stubborn agents to report in."

It's as tart as everything else Q has said, and James takes it as a challenge to be met.

"May I take you to dinner?" James smiles lightly at Q. "Perhaps I can make up for some of your worry."

"I wasn't worried," Q says. He considers James for a few seconds. "Go busy yourself elsewhere for a few hours. Report back at seven."

James smiles at him. "Certainly."

James spends the hours until he reports back to Q Branch sweating out his hangover, rehydrating, and getting in some practice time on the shooting range.

Q looks him up and down when he returns to Q Branch, nods at him, and gives him a set of car keys.

When they've been seated at a quiet table in the corner of the restaurant, James says, "I will endeavor not to worry you."

"Will you?" Q's voice is cool, like he doesn't quite believe James.

"I will." James flashes Q one of his more charming smiles. "I promise to enjoy every bite of my meal."

"That's a start," Q says with a nod that's still crisp, but with just a hint of warmth.

Q loosens up a little by the end of dinner, but James finds after he drops Q off that he misses the easy warmth of their previous meals together.

When James gets home, he orders a Roomba, and arranges to have it delivered to Q with a note: "A contingency I will endeavor to keep unneeded."

*

It takes a few meals - dinners, takeaway lunch in Q's office while he passively monitors another agent's mission, high tea in a room so elegant James spots no less than four members of the peerage - until they regain the ease of their relationship before James drank for three days instead of reporting in.

James comes home from a short jaunt to Portugal and receives a summons to Q Branch that instructs him to don a tuxedo. He does, and finds Q waiting for him similarly attired, coat draped over his arm. James has very much been aware that Q is an attractive man, but Q's slender frame in a perfectly fitted tux is enough to take his breath away.

"Ah, 007, right on time." Q gestures at a pair of men next to him. "I have a security detail this evening. Training exercise of sorts. Agents Davies and Wright."

Davies and Wright, in black suits meant to make them appear to be invisible private security, nod at James. They both look serious and competent, and anyone assigned to guard MI6's quartermaster as a training exercise must be good. James nods back and directs his questioning look at Q.

Q only hands over a set of keys - the Jag again - and leads them all into the elevator. "Don't try to lose them, 007."

"It could be good practice for them," James says. He stands between Q and the security detail. "Training exercise and all."

"Not that sort of training exercise," Q says, not without amusement.

James takes Q's coat from him in the garage and helps him into it before opening the car door for him.

Davies and Wright's car is parked next to the Jag, and they follow right behind James through the garage.

"Don't lose them, please," Q says again.

"The thought hadn't even entered my mind," James lies smoothly.

Q chuckles, and James is too pleased by his return to Q's good graces to try to make a case for losing the security detail.

Q's directions take them to the sort of French restaurant where a personal security detail isn't unknown. Q gives James's name to the maitre d', and they leave Davies and Wright to sort themselves out while they're shown to a table.

Once James determines that Davies and Wright have taken up appropriate positions for a security detail, he ignores them and focuses on Q and what turns out to be exquisitely prepared food.

James would be content to linger over dessert, but Q declines for both of them when the waiter offers. "We're on something of a schedule," he says to James.

"Tuxedos did seem a bit much for just dinner," James says.

Q's smile turns sheepish. "I'm afraid we'll be a bit overdressed for the next part of our evening as well."

James raises his eyebrows. "Why the tuxedos then?"

"I thought you would enjoy them." Q signs the credit slip their waiter brings him.

James leans toward him. "I'm rather enjoying looking at you in yours."

Q's lips turn up in the slightest smile. "Come along, James. We don't want to be late."

Davies and Wright stay with them as they leave the restaurant.

Q's next set of directions deposits them in a car park at Southbank Centre, and Davies and Wright stick close to them as they make their way to the Royal Festival Hall. Q hands over tickets, and an usher points them in the right direction.

"A box at the symphony?" James asks Q as they wait with Davies while Wright sweeps their box for any security risks.

"There's more to life than missions and good food," Q says. "You might enjoy it."

"I'm sure I'll enjoy it," James says. "Will you?"

"Most likely," Q says. "They're supposed to be an interesting orchestra."

Wright gives them the all-clear, and they take their seats in the box. Wright stations himself at the back of the box, leaving Davies outside. Perfectly textbook.

"Was a security detail really necessary?" James asks Q, quietly enough that Wright won't be able to hear him. "Surely a Double-O accompanying you is enough to keep you safe in public."

"Of course you are," Q says, "but will you be able to enjoy the performance if you're thinking about my safety? They're protecting me, but they're for you." Q opens his programme as if he hasn't just demonstrated an extraordinary amount of planning and forethought for the sole purpose of enhancing James's pleasure.

James doesn't have an answer for that. Instead of trying to come up with one, he leans in and reads the programme over Q's shoulder.

The music is a delight, in both the selection and the artistry of the musicians, and the presence of Davies and Wright does allow James to focus on the experience of enjoying it. Even if he hadn't been given that chance, the bright look in Q's eyes as they discuss the first half at the interval would have been worth the cost.

They stream out of the Hall with the rest of the symphony-goers, albeit better dressed than most and the only ones trailed by a security detail, and Q directs him down the street instead of to the car park.

They go to a pub, where Q orders them both wine and they sit at a small table and discuss the music, and the effect being played on period instruments has on their appreciation of it.

"Now tell me the truth," James says, leaning forward after Q rhapsodizes about the violins, "this excursion was for your benefit, not mine. I'm only here to provide you an excuse to attend the symphony without likelihood of interruption."

Q laughs, a bright, joyous sound James can't wait to hear again. "I won't pretend that wasn't a consideration. Mutual pleasure, as it were."

James draws in a breath to return the flirtation, but doesn't get a chance.

"It is growing late, however," Q says. "Do take me home."

James helps Q into his coat and murmurs into his ear. "I'd be happy to take you wherever you'd like."

"I'm sure you would," Q says with an amused smile. He steps away. "Do remember not to lose Davies and Wright."

"Pity." James follows Q out of the bar. "So many things we can't do while being watched."

Q shakes his head, smiling, and is otherwise quiet on the way to his house where he nods at Davies and Wright's car. "They won't follow you home. Their assignment ends when I get into the house."

"And here I was looking forward to evading them."

That gets a laugh out of Q, and the sight of it in the dim light coming from the street lights takes James's breath away. If it weren't for Davies and Wright still watching them, he would throw caution to the wind and lean across the car to kiss Q.

"I've had a lovely evening," he says instead.

"Even without the prospect of a car chase?" Q says, laughter still in his voice.

"Even so."

Q's smile softens. "So did I. Good night, James."

"Good night, Q." James watches until Q is safely in the house and Davies and Wright have left before he turns the Jag homeward. His attraction to Q wouldn't be half so dangerous if he didn't also very much like the man.

*

James beds the French ambassador's Italian mistress in Rome. He's sliding his hand up her thigh when he wonders, for a moment, if this kind of thing could be part of Q's attempts to make him enjoy life outside of missions. He pictures Q under him, imagines it's Q's thigh under his hand.

Then he pushes it out of his head; that sort of distraction could get him killed.

He thinks about it again only after the mission is done and he's on his way home to London. Perhaps it's time he took some initiative in this whatever it is he has with Q. Q hasn't seemed wholly averse to James's flirting, and while he may not have returned it on most occasions, James hasn't been putting any particular effort into it.

James lingers for a moment after he returns his equipment, until Q looks up at him.

"Was there something else you needed, 007?"

James leans against Q's workbench. "Are you free tomorrow evening?"

Q considers him for a moment. "Barring any emergencies of national security, yes, I should be. Dress code?"

"Whatever you like," James says. He lowers his voice. "I did enjoy the tuxedo, but this is about your pleasure. I'd prefer you to be comfortable."

"I'll see you tomorrow, 007." Q's dismissal is matched with a slight smile.

James returns the smile with a wider one, and gives Q the same sort of smile when his arrival at Q Branch the next evening is met with Q already waiting for him.

Q tosses him a set of keys. "You seem to enjoy the Jag, and I believe we've established the benefits of mutual pleasure."

The Jag is certainly nicer than James's purely temporary use of a non-modified Mercedes.

"That we have." James guides Q into the lift with a hand at the small of his back.

He takes Q to a pub first, the same sort of solid English pub Q's chosen on occasion. They order fish and chips and pints, and find a table just large enough for the two of them.

"I'm not sure I expected pub fare," Q says.

"You seem to enjoy it." James rests his fingers lightly on the back of Q's wrist for a moment. "I do want you to enjoy the evening."

"I'm sure I will," Q says with a smile. "And I do enjoy pub fare, although the variety hasn't all been for your sake."

James leans toward Q. "Mutual pleasure."

"Precisely."

They banter, they eat, and James pays the bill and guides Q out of the pub at a very early hour.

"We have tickets," James explains, and lets Q discover what they're for when they reach the theatre.

James took a chance with his choice of entertainment, so he's pleased when Q looks at the marquee and laughs brightly.

"You brought me to a panto?"

"It's December and this is a quintessential British Christmas tradition," James points out.

Q goes on laughing. It's a good look on him.

Their seats are in the middle of the theatre, albeit on the aisle. It means part of James's focus is on their surroundings, but not enough for him to miss out on the delight that is laughing along with Q at the antics on the stage.

"That," Q says when they leave the theatre, "was not what I was expecting when you asked if I was free."

"I do like to be unpredictable," James says.

"You are that."

James drives Q home, and glances over as often as is safe to look at the smile on his face.

"Thank you, James," Q says when they reach his house. "I very much enjoyed myself this evening."

"I did hope to bring you pleasure," James says. He reaches across the car to rest his hand on Q's cheek, and when Q doesn't pull away, he leans over to kiss him.

For all that it's a soft kiss that they part from naturally, it sends sparks all along James's nerves. Q puts his hand over James's and holds it there for a moment, turns his head into it to press his lips to James's palm.

"I look forward to our next experience of mutual pleasure," Q says.

Everything in James's body flares hot. "As do I."

Q gets out of the car and leans back in to say, "Good night, James," before he goes into the house.

The evening might not have ended in bed, but it does rank as one of the better evenings of James's life.

*

James answers a mid-afternoon summons to Q Branch to find Q waiting for him with a small, pleased smile on his face. Q drops a set of car keys in James's hand and allows James to take his coat and help him into it.

"Not the Jag today?"

"Bit flashy for a Tuesday afternoon. And we're not going far."

The car is the Lexus, thoroughly unremarkable, and James takes them through the streets of London and into a car park at Q's direction with ease. James recognizes the area of the city, but isn't certain of their destination until Q leads him across Trafalgar Square to the museum steps.

They wander through the rooms, pausing here and there to discuss a work or admire the use of color. James is familiar enough with the layout of the museum to know where their path is taking them, and he's not the least surprised when they stop in front of The Fighting Temeraire.

James shifts closer to Q, close enough that the back of their hands brush. "Does it still make you feel - What was it you said? - melancholy?"

Q tucks his hand around James's and curls their fingers together. "I'm rather sentimental about it now."

James lifts their hands, slowly enough that Q can stop him if he prefers not to allow this in public, and brushes his lips across the back of Q's hand. "How very romantic of you."

"It did witness a rather important moment in my life."

James brushes another kiss across the back of Q's hand. "Mine as well."

Q smiles at him, quiet and pleased. He gives the Temeraire a fond look, and then they move on.

Q keeps hold of James's hand as they meander through the museum for another hour. It's the kind of simple affection James doesn't have much call for in his life, which makes it all the sweeter. He's sorry to let go when they leave the museum.

"Are we to have dinner as well?" James asks.

"Of course." The corners of Q's mouth turn up. "It would hardly do to send you home unsatisfied."

"I do appreciate your consideration," Jame says. "I will endeavor to ensure that the pleasure is mutual."

"See that you do," Q says.

James doesn't resist the urge to smirk, and lets his hand rest against Q's hip for a moment when he ushers him into the car.

Q's directions take them away from the center of the city and into a quieter neighborhood. The restaurant he leads James into is small, barely large enough for the dozen or so tables in it. There's one empty small table, and when Q assures the woman who greets them that it is only the two of them, they're led to it and given menus.

"The food is excellent," Q says. "In three months there will be lines around the block."

James raises an eyebrow. "Is that a guess or do you have some inside knowledge?"

"One of the Q Branch programmers has been working on an algorithm to predict restaurant success. The rest of us have been feeding data into it about food quality, atmosphere, location, all the relevant data. This," Q waves at the place, "is showing up as likely to become trendy in the next one to two months."

"Ah," James says, "so we're enjoying it before it becomes cool."

Q laughs. "I don't think anyone can accuse you of being a hipster."

"No," James says. He reaches across the table to pinch a bit of Q's cardigan between his fingers. "You, on the other hand."

Q grins at him. "They're comfortable, and it means people underestimate me, to their detriment."

"Hardly a mistake I would make a second time." James slides his hand down Q's arm until he can rest it over Q's hand. "Is your programmer's algorithm the reason you're so familiar with all the culinary delights London has to offer?"

"No," Q says. He turns his hand over and wraps his fingers around James's. "I'm not much of a cook, or, to be more precise, there are any number of things I find more important than cooking. I do enjoy good food, however, and I will admit to using the algorithm and its data to add new places to eat to my roster of options."

"I must say I approve of the results," James says.

Q smiles at him, and goes on smiling as they eat and talk and flirt. It's lovely, and James wants to keep that look on his face as long as he can.

Q's smile turns softer when James takes him home. "Thank you for indulging my sentimentality."

James takes Q's hand and lifts it to his lips. "It wasn't yours alone."

Q murmurs, "James," and leans across the car to kiss him.

It's a deeper kiss than their first, and James feels it all the way down to his toes. He protests when Q pulls away and draws him in to kiss him again. Q leans into it, for long moments that only make James want more.

Q draws away slowly, easing out of the kiss so it doesn't feel like an abrupt break. He stays close for a moment, and James takes advantage of it to nuzzle his cheek.

"This was lovely," he says against Q's cheek, and he's close enough to feel Q's smile.

"It was." Q presses a kiss to James's cheek. "Good night, James."

James would rather continue to kiss Q, but he says, "Good night, Q," and lets him go. Q's smile suggests it's the right choice, and the way he was so receptive to James's touch suggests there will be other opportunities for kissing.

*

James swings by Q Branch after he's spent a morning sparring with other agents and agents in training. The place is a hive of activity, techs rushing through the space, frantic typing, Q at the center of it with images up on the screens and calm voice over the comms.

James stays back, out of the way, and watches while they get 004 out of a tight spot. He only steps forward when Q turns off the comms and the activity level returns to normal.

"007," Q greets him. "What can I do for you?"

A whole host of ideas run through James's mind. He lets them show in only the barest smirk. "Are you free this evening?"

"Yes," Q says, returning James's smirk with an amused smile of his own, "assuming 004 manages to stay out of trouble. Dress code?"

"I'll have something delivered," James says. "We'll need a car, something completely ordinary, even less flashy than the Lexus."

Q raises his eyebrows. "You do have me curious now."

James lowers his voice to say, "I can promise you mutual pleasure," and then takes his leave for the time being.

He returns to Q branch in the evening to find Q waiting for him. He's wearing his wool coat, with the jacket James sent for him folded over his arm. James can see the jeans and shoes he had delivered below the hem of the coat, so Q hasn't foregone the entirety of the outfit.

"I'll swap them when we're out of here," Q says, catching his look. "Didn't seem like the image the Quartermaster should project." He hands James an unfamiliar set of car keys. "I see you haven't the same concerns."

James's outfit of jeans, black t-shirt, and leather jacket is, admittedly, not the sort of thing he usually wears to MI6, but he's a field agent often under surveillance; much of MI6 has seen him in all sorts of dress and lack thereof. "Hardly."

The car is a silver Ford Fiesta, the most ordinary car one could possibly find.

"We've made some modifications," Q says while James takes his wool coat and helps him into the denim jacket that goes with the skinny jeans and white t-shirt James bought and had delivered to him. "You'll find it a bit more enjoyable to drive than your standard Fiesta."

"I'm sure I'll find plenty of things about the evening enjoyable." James runs his hand down Q's arm. "Beginning with the way you look."

"That's your doing," Q says. He tugs the jacket into place. "And you've managed to get everything just my size."

"Top-notch training." James holds Q's car door for him before going around to the driver's side.

"I must admit," Q says when James gets into the car, "that this was not what I expected when you said you'd send an outfit for me."

James grins at him before he puts the car into gear. "I do like to be unpredictable."

"So you do. I suppose that means I shouldn't bother to guess where we're going."

James laughs. "I doubt you could."

"You were right," Q says when James parks the car and guides him into a small pizzeria. "I wouldn't have guessed this."

"Even with the clothing?" James pulls Q's chair out for him.

"Even so," Q says. He rakes his eyes over James's chest in its tight t-shirt. "I am enjoying it."

James allows himself to preen a little under Q's appreciative regard.

They order a pair of beers and a pizza to share. James gets the pleasure not only of the food and Q's company, but also of Q's appreciation for the pizza.

"I see I'm not the only one who can find a variety of good food," Q says with a pleased smile.

"And I don't even have access to your database of restaurants."

They spend a diverting hour bantering over their pizza before James leads Q a few blocks down the street to their next destination.

They can hear the music from the street, and it gets louder when James leads Q past the bouncer into the club's entryway.

"Clubbing?" Q asks when they pause to check their jackets.

"I thought you might like it," James says. He slides his hand down Q's arm from shoulder to wrist, then takes his hand. "I imagine you don't get much chance to just move your body."

"Certainly not like this," Q says, and then they get into the club proper and the thump of bass drowns out any conversation.

James makes a path for them to the center of the packed dance floor, leading Q along by their joined hands. It's a bit of a security risk, but James is counting on the sheer mass of men dressed more or less the same way they are to provide camouflage if needed.

The crowd gives them an excuse to press close together, not that they need one. James tugs a wholly unresisting Q up against his body. They're nearly of a height, and they line up perfectly, chest to chest, hips to hips. James puts his hands at Q's waist and moves them together. Q flashes him a grin, and then presses closer still.

They dance, one more anonymous pair of men in a sea of them. James skims his lips up Q's neck. Q tips his head back and lets him, then tips it down to meet James in a heated kiss. They exchange kisses for a while, even as they move with the music and ignore the occasional lustful stare or wolf whistle. James slides his hand down, cupping Q's arse. Q responds to that by sliding one leg between James's and grinding closer to him.

They're both hard, James feeling the surge of lust through his veins every time Q's cock rubs against his, when Q tips his head toward the entrance.

James nods and leads them through the crowd. They spill out into the entryway. Q's hair is matted to his forehead with sweat, and they're both breathless.

"Good choice?" James asks while they wait for the boy at the coat check to locate their jackets.

"Yes," Q says. "It's been far too long since I've done that."

James crowds close to him, pressing his body against Q's. "Has it?"

Q tips his head back onto James's shoulder. "Indeed. I'd nearly forgotten how it feels to let my body move with no consideration for anything but my partner."

The coat check boy comes up with their jackets then, leaving James without a chance to directly follow up on the suggestion in Q's words.

James helps Q into his jacket, shrugs on his own, and rests his hand at the small of Q's back to lead him to the car.

There's an open parking space in front of Q's house; James takes it and turns off the engine. He reaches across the car to cup Q's cheek. "I would hate to allow our experience of mutual pleasure end so soon. May I come in?"

Q turns his head enough to brush his lips over James's palm. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

There's a key, not a keycard, for Q's door, and a security system panel inside the entryway. Q bypasses the biometric panel and enters a code instead, slowly enough that James can follow and memorize the steps required to disarm and arm the system.

Then Q crouches down to pet the pair of cats who have appeared from another part of the house to twine around his ankles. "Hello, darlings. I'm afraid you'll have to stay down here tonight." He stands and holds his hand out to James. "You may come upstairs."

"I should hope so." James takes his hand and crowds close behind him up the stairs. "I would hate to traumatize your darlings when I'm only trying to give you pleasure."

The look Q throws at him over his shoulder is as scorching as any James has ever received. "I have no doubt you'll do that."

James takes the last two stairs in one step, and plasters himself to Q's back, hands at his hips, mouth pressed against the back of his neck.

Q turns in his hold and presses in for a kiss that steals James's breath away. "The bedroom is just there."

James skims his mouth along Q's jaw, tasting his skin, breathing in his scent after a few hours of dancing. "I'm not entirely sure I can wait."

Q pushes James's jacket down his arms, forcing James to move his hands away from Q's body to let it fall to the floor. "I assure you, we can engage in more enjoyable mutual pleasure in my bed."

James pushes at Q's jacket as well, then tugs his shirt up and off. By the time they reach Q's bed, they're both shirtless with jeans undone. They separate for a moment of mad scrambling to get their shoes and socks off, and then come back together to get the rest of their clothes off and tumble naked into Q's bed. James lays himself out over Q, feeling all of Q's skin beneath his, Q's slender frame under his larger one.

Q says, "Mmm," and wraps his arms around James. "I told you this would be enjoyable."

"Indeed." James rolls his hips, which elicits a delightful gasp and a matching movement from Q. "I shall endeavor to be thorough in our quest for mutual pleasure."

"See that you do," Q says with a laugh.

James grins down at him, thoroughly pleased to not only have Q naked beneath him but to have made him laugh as well, and then he licks into Q's mouth. Q returns the favor, and fumbles at his glasses with one hand, dropping them on the nightstand so they can get as close as possible.

They move together, trading kisses and touches, gasps and moans, until they come, Q first and James following after him. James stays over Q, kissing and touching him as they come down from their orgasms.

Q stretches a bit under him without making any move away from James. "It's been far too long since I've done that as well."

James grins and kisses him. "I thought about this," he murmurs against Q's cheek.

"Did you?"

"Mmm." James runs his hand down Q's arm, back up his torso. "In Rome, with the French ambassador's Italian mistress." He slides a hand up Q's thigh, the same way he did with the Italian mistress. "I wondered what it would be like with you instead."

Q raises his eyebrows and plays with the hair at the back of James's neck. "And? How was it?"

James kisses him slowly, lavishly, feeling warm with it all the way through his body. "Better than anything I imagined."

Q gives him a pleased smile. "I would hate to disappoint." He kisses James for a long moment, and then pushes him away.

James rolls to the side and props his head up on his hand to watch the movement of skin and muscle when Q gets out of bed. "Where are you going?"

"There's cake downstairs," Q says. He leans over the bed to press a quick kiss to James's lips. "I'll bring it up here." He cleans up a bit first, throws a damp flannel at James, and then leaves the room, still naked.

James cleans himself up, returns the flannel to the bathroom, and waits in bed for Q to return.

Q brings not only the promised cake - with only a single fork - but also a bottle of wine and a pair of glasses.

"You know," James says as he accepts a glass of rich red wine, "you've quite done in my alcohol tolerance."

Q pauses with a bite of cake halfway to his mouth. "How have I managed that?"

"You kept handing me car keys at various times of the day and night," James says. He accepts the bite of cake Q offers him and follows it up with a sip of the perfectly paired wine. "It seemed prudent to keep my wits about me if I was to keep you safe while behind the wheel."

Q raises his eyebrows. "An unintended consequence, I assure you. Your alcohol consumption wasn't at the top of my list of concerns."

James accepts another bite of cake. "And here I thought this was all in service of my well-being."

"And your pleasure." Q strokes his hand over James's bare thigh before feeding him another bite of cake.

"Oh, my pleasure is quite assured." James leans over and kisses Q, soft and lingering. "Mutual pleasure, I believe we agreed." He puts his wine glass on the nightstand so he can put his hands on Q. He keeps them there, sliding over his skin while they share the rest of the cake.

Q arches into his touch. "This is rather pleasurable."

James smiles and presses kisses to Q's shoulder, his neck. "You've left touch out of your enticement of my senses thus far. I feel the need to take advantage now."

"Perhaps I ought to have let the cats in after all," Q says. "They're very soft."

James nuzzles at his ear. "I'd much rather pet you."

Q laughs, puts the plate on the nightstand, and lets James pull him down into bed.

*

James makes breakfast in the morning, fully intending to take it upstairs and feed it to Q in bed. Instead, Q comes downstairs while he's cooking. James's eyes catch on Q's bare torso and the shape of his half-hard cock showing through the thin cloth of his pajama bottoms.

"You took my dressing gown," Q says.

The eggs will be fine without tending for a minute. James rounds the center island and advances on Q. "I can't say I'm sorry for it."

Q raises his eyebrows and stands his ground. "Is that so?"

"Indeed." James puts one hand on the bare skin of Q's back, the other on the barely clothed curve of his arse, and draws him in for a leisurely good morning kiss. Q gives as good as he gets, and James stays there kissing him until his internal clock counts down to the point that the eggs must be seen to lest they burn.

Q makes tea, offers James a cup, and leans against the bench watching James cook. It gives James an equal chance to watch him back, a lovely sight, half-naked as he is.

"Breakfast down here or in bed?" James asks after he's divvied up the eggs, bacon, and toast onto a pair of plates.

"Mmm, couch, I think," Q says. He takes their tea, and James brings the food.

There are a pair of couches, one facing a large flat screen, the other facing a fireplace. Q chooses the one facing the fireplace. The painting James bought for Q hangs above the mantel.

"You hung the painting in here," James says.

Q looks up at it, and his lips turn up in a smile. "I did." He scoots closer to James, so their thighs are pressed together. "I didn't want to hang it at the office. I like it in here." He leans his cheek against James's shoulder for a moment. "It reminds me of you."

James is entirely helpless to do anything but kiss Q for that.

"Perhaps we ought to have taken this to bed," he says when his cock is hard, Q's hair is thoroughly mussed, and he's lost interest in breakfast.

Q pulls away, just enough that they're no longer touching. "You made me breakfast. I'm eating it." He rakes his eyes over James, lingering at the place where his cock threatens to part the folds of the dressing gown. "There will be plenty of time for mutual pleasure after that."

James accepts the necessity of banking the heat between them for the moment. The cats join them, one of them settling on Q's lap and the other nestling into the space between them, both of them begging for bites of food. Q is far more adept than James at eating while fending off cats, but he relents and feeds each of them a small piece of bacon.

"Should I cook for your darlings as well next time?" James asks.

Q's smile lights up his whole face. "Human food is a treat they only get on very special occasions. The cat treats are in the cupboard." He finishes the last bite of his eggs, then puts both their plates on the coffee table and shoos the cats away. "Go on, darlings. This part isn't for you." He turns toward James with a bright look of interest James is only too happy to return.

"Staying down here, are we?" James asks when Q kisses him soundly and pushes him down onto the couch.

"As good a place as any for mutual pleasure," Q says. He straddles James, looking like a not nearly debauched enough angel with his pale skin and his hair haloed around his head. He puts his glasses on the coffee table, and then slowly pulls apart the loose knot James used on the dressing gown belt. He pushes the sides apart next, and just looks at James for a few long moments.

James rests his hands on Q's thighs. "Do I meet with your approval?"

"Mmm, very much so." Q lowers himself down onto James. "More so now," he says with a slight gasp as his movement rubs their cocks together.

"Mutual pleasure," James reminds him. He puts his arms around Q and kisses him, but lets Q set their pace.

They move together slowly, the perfect, undemanding pace for a languid morning after. Q's pajama bottoms stay on until his cock has wet them through, and after that they move together skin to skin with touches and kisses and a gentleness that soothes all of James's senses. Even the bright spark of coming feels soft and easy.

"That was perfectly lovely," Q says. The smile around his eyes is as soft as his words and the skin of his back under James's hand.

James murmurs an agreement, unwilling to move or speak too loud lest he break the spell of the moment around them.

Q does move, after a bit, but only so far as to pick up his pajama bottoms from the floor and clean up the mess between them before they can stick together. He lays himself down on top of James again after, seeming just as content as James to stay there for a while.

James smooths his hands up and down Q's back and looks at the painting hung above the mantel. "I suppose I'm unlikely to forget there are reasons to live outside of the field now."

He can feel Q's smile against his shoulder before Q presses a kiss there. "I am glad for that."

James slides one hand down to Q's arse. "Don't think your work here is done, however."

Q laughs. "I would never." He lifts himself up and kisses James, deep and long. "I expect this to be a rather long-term project."

*

**Epilogue**

James answers a summons to Q Branch and is directed into Q's office. He eyes the large bouquet of red and yellow roses on the corner of Q's desk. "Doesn't quite match the decor, does it?"

Q smiles at him. "No, but they're lovely. Thank you."

James steps forward. "Surveillance on in here?"

Q reaches across his desk and does something with his computer. "No."

James crosses the space between them and draws Q into his arms for a leisurely kiss.

"You bought me roses," Q says when they draw a little apart.

"It seemed appropriate," James says. "Anniversary gift of sorts." A year since James leaned across the car and kissed Q for the first time, closer to two since the first time Q summoned him to Q Branch and took him to dinner.

"Right." Q kisses him soundly once more, then steps back. "That's not why you're here." He does something with his computer, presumably turning the surveillance back on, and picks up an envelope and a box from his desk. "You're going to Brussels. Documents." That's the envelope. "Walther, radio, watch." That's the box.

"No special extras?" James asks.

Q's mouth turns up at the corners. "Come with me."

He takes James not to one of the labs but to the garage. He tosses James a set of keys just as they round a corner of the garage, which means James sees the car itself before he can determine the make from the keys.

There's an insufferably smug look on Q's face when James turns away from the car to him.

"Aston Martin DB5," Q says. "Original frame, rebuilt engine, all the little extras you've come to expect from Q Branch."

James takes in Q's rundown of the car's defensive and offensive capabilities with enough attention that he'll be able to use them. The rest of his attention, however, is devoted to watching Q's movement and expressions.

When Q finishes his explanation, James shifts close enough to him that their arms brush and tips his head toward Q. "I seem to remember you telling me that you couldn't make your inventory decisions based on what I want."

Q gives him an amused smile. "Not all of them, no."

"Surveillance?" James murmurs.

Q takes out his mobile. "It's a terrible security risk to keep turning it off, you know."

"Only for a moment." James waits for Q's nod of confirmation before he puts his arms around Q and steers him toward the car as he kisses him. They end up against the car, Q's back pressed to it and James pressed to Q.

"Bring it back in one piece," Q says, "and I'll let you take me out in it."

James dips in for another extravagant kiss. "The flowers rather pale in comparison."

Q laughs and cups the back of James's head. "I love the flowers." He pushes James away, and they both straighten their clothing before Q turns the surveillance back on.

"Belated dinner, then, when I return," James says.

Q nods. "When you return, then. Good luck, 007."

James nods back at him, with a slight smile. "Q." He foregoes a last kiss goodbye; there will be plenty of time for that after his assignment is completed.


End file.
